


Two Bodies Breathing in Tandem

by Bounteous



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: 50s au, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Greasers, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Gay, Getting Back Together, Implied Sexual Content, Lee Yut-Lung & Okumura Eiji are Best Friends, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Break Up, Prom, Sexual Tension, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Underage Drinking, that's the tag list
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:14:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28003749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bounteous/pseuds/Bounteous
Summary: A collection of Asheiji being gay and cute; drabbles, one-shots, and imagines.
Relationships: Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji
Comments: 27
Kudos: 127





	1. Yellow Lights

**Author's Note:**

> Eiji attempts Christmas decorating without the help of his boyfriend and gayness ensues.

Christmas in America is different than Christmas in Japan and Eiji is just the slightest bit too embarrassed to explain to Ash that the holiday, to him, means less about familial love and more about romantic love. 

Eiji walks a thin line between being Ash’s best friend and Ash’s boyfriend, often wondering why he is so afraid to be both. If the man found out Eiji still tiptoes around the intimate parts of their relationship, there would be an argument for sure. Eiji hates accidentally triggering him when he refuses to admit what bothers him and what doesn’t. 

Therefore, Eiji is genuinely considering letting Ash believe they happen to celebrate Christmas exactly the same way.

If only he wasn’t so blatantly obvious when something was bothering him. Eiji Okumura is a bad liar and Ash Lynx is too intuitive for his own good. 

These are the thoughts running through Eiji’s mind as he struggles to string up the pretty lights around their apartment. He is too short standing on foot to reach the ceiling and a chair would be unsafe, but the only step stool they own barely reaches a foot off the ground. 

A single beam runs across the middle of the ceiling in their living room and he had decided it was the perfect place for their lights, but he hadn’t realized how dangerous it would be to stretch to his fullest height on a tiny, wobbly stool with absolutely nothing to grab onto. 

Realistically, he should call for Ash. However, he’s working from home today and Eiji would hate to bother him with something as trivial as decorating for a holiday that is weeks away. No, he can do this himself and surprise Ash when he emerges, strung up on coffee and lacking cuddles, at the end of the day. 

He deserves it and so much more. 

This will be their first official Christmas together and the first time Ash has even bothered to celebrate in years. It has to be good. No stress; just fun, festive cliches. 

_ Hotondo,  _ Eji thinks, standing on the tips of his toes, arms stretched high above his head reaching for the nail placed just a bit too high. He almost has it, one hand shaking with exertion and the other gripping tightly to the rest of the bundle. He almost has it… until he doesn’t.

He feels his balance tipping before his mind registers the current events. In one second, the stool is upright, and in the next, Eiji has toppled to the floor in a heap of bruised limbs and yellow Christmas lights. At least the floor is carpeted in this area of their apartment.

A soft  _ ow  _ leaves Eiji’s lips as he rubs his throbbing elbow just as a door slams open and pounding footsteps make their way into the living room. Such concern would be endearing if the events of their past hadn’t occurred.

“Eiji!” Ash shouts, eyes wide, wild, like the lynx he is, and breath ragged like the trip down the hallway was a marathon. 

“I am okay, Aslan,” Eiji reassures, “I fell.”

Suddenly, Ash’s anxiety ceases and a loving smile breaks out on his face. His glasses even rise with the strain of his pale cheeks. Eiji is sorely confused.

“What?” He asks, innocence wafting toward Ash like an alluring aroma.

“Where’s your camera?” Ash asks instead, and Eiji can see the cogs turning in that sharp brain of his.

“My desk.” The brown-eyed boy’s eyebrows furrow bewilderment. “Why?”

Ash is already speeding his way toward Eiji’s office as he replies, “Just—don’t move, okay?”

He returns, impatiently waiting for the camera to power on before he instructs Eiji to stay still as the sound of the familiar clicking breaks the brief silence. Seemingly satisfied, Ash places the camera onto the kitchen counter and then helps Eiji to his feet.

“Are you okay, though?” He asks, helping his boyfriend to rid himself of the tangles of twinkling lights and rubbing away a red spot on the back of his hand. 

“Yes,” Eiji replies, letting a pale, calloused hand pull him to his feet, “only bruised little.”

He smiles in the way he knows Ash loves, all cute and innocent with a hint of naivety (as Ash always claims). Ash is all emboldened flirting and straight-forward compliments with easy intentions. Eiji is ingenuity and genuine kindness wrapped up sweetly with a bow on top; a present for his boyfriend to unwrap in eagerness every single day. Ash tries and so does Eiji, but Eiji doesn’t have to.

“Can I see pictures?” Eiji asks with a tilt of his head.

Ash smiles brightly, reaching over to grab the camera once again and, after a few seconds of fiddling, turns the screen towards his boyfriend.

Eiji is astonished, firstly, that Ash could even manage to take such a perfect picture with very little skill in terms of photography. Secondly, the image itself causes his cheeks to burn a bright shade of red.

Though his elbow had been in slight pain and bruises were surely already beginning to form, Ash clearly thought Eiji looked adorable sitting with the string of lights wrapped haphazardly around him. The tiny bulbs shine brightly, creating an ethereal glow and making him seem as if he’s some angel sent from Heaven. His face is full of wonder and curiosity, wide-eyed and mouth up-turned at Ash’s antics behind the camera.

Eiji likes the way Ash made him look, but he’s flustered all the same under the blond’s loving attention.

“You looked precious and I felt like capturing the moment,” Ash states, words simple and direct and unabashed. “I only wish I would’ve kissed you, that would’ve been a nice touch.”

Eiji’s hand land atop Ash’s holding the camera. “You kiss me now?”

Nothing will ever make his heart flutter more than Ash smiling for real.

“Yeah, I can kiss you now.”

Their lips together is a feeling as familiar as the setting sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Support my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing! https://ko-fi.com/bounteous


	2. Moments Before (and After)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eiji helps Ash get ready for a night of schmoozing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The difference in quality between the first one-shot and this one is astonishing, really

Ash is so pretty it physically pains Eiji to have to endure living with him 24/7. Everyone gets to witness him cocking a gun and firing bullets with deadly precision. Only Eiji gets to witness the slew of emotions flitting across his pale face as he tries new Japanese cuisine. Everyone smirks once he gets going with those cunning schemes and crippling blackmail. Only Eiji smiles vicariously when he sleeps without fits and cries in the night. They see calm, cool composure while Eiji sees through the curtains behind the act.

Eiji is privy to moments of vulnerability, yes, but also to moments in which Ash appears unusually relaxed. The man is always on guard, a product of his early training. However, Eiji notices the tenseness of his shoulders after grueling days and the slight slouch in posture upon waking up late in the afternoon. The contrast is astounding. 

Eiji plays housewife so Ash can have a sense of normalcy. And, selfishly, so Eiji can interact with his closest friend loose-jawed and lax. 

He calls him  _ Aslan  _ in these moments, obsessed with the way blond eyelashes flutter with good memories. They haven’t acknowledged it, yet. 

If only they could keep company in the same bubble of protection that Ash has so intricately placed him in. Eiji feels too far away in their current standing; as if Ash is liable to float away at a moment’s glance. Eiji knows him well enough to know he wouldn’t really try to come back down, even if it hurt both of them. 

Ash is so selfless Eiji wants to scream. It’s reason number one why the strange American is so damn pretty. Unwavering loyalty, fierce protection, and stubborn determination are all reflected back into richly brown irises. He’s on a pedestal in those eyes, but not so tall he could fall. Merely trip out of genuine confusion, but Eiji would always be there to lend a steady hand and reassure him of his deserving of it. 

A tad unrealistic, but Eiji’s dreams have become quite fanciful. What else is there to do but gaze into the distance with a certain someone at the forefront of his mind?

Tonight, Ash’s schemes require a bit of classiness.

The man owns two pairs of ripped jeans (Eiji is 99% sure they weren’t ripped when first acquired), a couple of t-shirts, a few jackets, and one ratty, reliable pair of bright red converse. More clothing had been bought following their subsequent move into their 59th st apartment, including one immaculately tailored suit. 

Eiji swears his heart skips multiple beats once he glimpses Ash’s frame standing in the middle of their bedroom doorway. Both of them are tall and lithe, but Ash’s shoulders are slightly broader and stretch the white cotton of his button-up. A black waistcoat hugs his torso, making the look more complete. Black dress pants are cut perfectly down slender legs where two polished, never-before-used dress shoes keep his balance. The jacket drapes over his arm while he fiddles with the maroon tie around his neck.

Briefly, Eiji imagines an alternate reality in which Ash sweeps him off of his feet and they run away together into the depths of Europe or Asia.

“Something on my face or what?”

Ash is looking at him, a knowing smirk spreading across his face, and Eiji wishes for nothing more than to fade away into nonexistence. His cheeks and neck flush in embarrassment as he averts his gaze towards a suddenly interesting speck on the wall. 

“Fuzz,” he says, coughing up the word in thickly accented English. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see blond eyebrows contort into blatant confusion.

“Huh?”

Eiji swallows thickly. “Beard.” He gestures towards his chin. “Shave. Look like child pretending he adult. Shave make you look adult.”

Ash checks himself in his reflection on the tv screen. “I suppose I have been less focused on grooming lately.” The smile thrown Eiji’s way is blinding. “Good catch!”

He’s not quite sure where his sudden bout of confidence comes from, but Ash has barely taken a step before he shouts, “I do it!” An eyebrow raises in response. “Dirty suit bad. I do clean job.”

It’s true that Eiji has never been able to grow much facial hair himself, but his father deemed shaving an important skill to learn and taught him as such growing up. The only difference is Ash is clearly not as much of a connoisseur as Okumura Sr. was. Instead of a fancy metal razor, Eiji’s American friend has found a sketchy, plastic razor. Instead of a brush, bowl, and expensive cream, there’s a half-empty, very old bottle of gel-to-foam. 

It’s certainly good enough for their current state.

And that’s how they find themselves; Ash sat on the toilet, a towel around his shoulders, and Eiji lathering on purple gel until it’s foaming between fingers and chin. Eiji can feel the stare of jade-green eyes with each stroke of the blade, and he has to focus intently on steadying his hand. This is somehow far more intimate than they’ve ever been before. 

He can feel the puffs of Ash’s breath near his ear as he tilts his head to a better angle. He wonders, too, if Ash can feel the trembling of his fingers. 

A hand catches his wrist and brown shoots to green.

“Why are you shaking?” Ash asks bluntly, gruffly, but the look on his face is concerned.

Eiji licks his lips, wondering if his voice will fail him again. “You make me nervous.”

Something akin to shame flashes across his eyes. “I won’t hurt you.” It’s resolute, accounting for something greater than himself.

“No.” Eiji shakes his head vehemently. “You not understand. I nervous because I not want hurt you.”

Ash doesn’t know how to reply to that, so Eiji finishes with a heavy silence surrounding him until he can glide his fingertips along smooth, supple skin. He stands back, towel wet in his arms, as Ash inspects his face under faux scrutiny.

“Thank you,” he says instead of some teasing remark, eyes catching in the mirror.

They walk to the front door together before Eiji stops him once again.

“Ash!”

The hand on the doorknob pauses. “Yes, sweetie?” Ash turns with that jovial, Cheshire grin.

“You forget tie, baka.” Eiji fights hard against the heat he feels rushing towards his face for the second time that night.

He forgoes asking this time, merely grabs the maroon silk and ties with the swiftness a proper man of his age should have. 

When he looks up, he’s stunned and transfixed by the closeness of Ash’s face and the seriousness of his gaze. A different kind of seriousness than danger. More like adoration of the highest capacity; a sudden, crashing, tumultuous recognition of which the object of affection has become accepted. Eiji wants to bloom and wilt at the same time.

Soft lips press themselves lightly against his brow for several seconds.

Against them are words whispered, “I’d like to kiss you for real when I get home.”

Words are whispered back the body is gone, out the door with terrifying finality as always.

“Then come home safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Support my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing! https://ko-fi.com/bounteous


	3. Sunshowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee shop, sexual tension, and the morning after—in that order. Also Ash being an educated flirt and Eiji being a flustered bean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally a separate work, but then I remembered I had this ongoing

It shines in pretty escapades of cascading sunlight. A reflection of feeling and emotion. Invigorating. Enlightening. Soothing the bones and the creases in a furrowed brow, down-turned lips. Droplets of memories on the windowsill. Puddles of dreams on the sidewalk. 

Eiji Okumura loves the rain. 

He forgets himself in it. Forgets he is supposed to be working.

Instead, he is draped lazily over the counter, dreamily gazing out of the floor-to-ceiling panels of glass separating their coffee shop from the outside world. To-go cappuccino in hand and a sharpie having spelled out only half the name. 

“Is there really a person named ‘Mar’?”

The rest of the world twirling impatiently around Eiji’s orbit shifts back into focus. 

“Huh?” He blinks, turns slowly toward Sing, oh-so-very confused. 

Sing gestures amusedly to the cup suddenly burning the palm of his hand. He drops it, cringes, and awaits the moment it topples over, spilling oozing black liquid all over the counter, but it settles heavily and only sloshes a slight trickle down the side. 

Quickly scribbles in the rest of the name and calls out, “Maria!” to the patrons drinking, studying, snoozing. It’s retrieved by a studious-looking woman in a business-gray pantsuit and heels that click dramatically on the wood flooring. She thanks him and he pretends he didn’t just accidentally make her wait far longer than normal for her caffeine. 

“We’re gonna get bad Yelp reviews if you keep making our customers wait so long,” Sing teases, reclining back against the black countertop. Three on Monday afternoons are typically slow-going, although being located directly in the center of a big city means they’re never empty.

“It is expensive coffee, anyway. They do not need it.”  
“Yeah, well, we get paid because of this expensive coffee, so…”

Eiji can’t argue with that. Attending NYU as a photography major and refusing to live in the dorms requires a fair bit of money that he rarely owns. He should invest in a roommate, but Sing is still in high school and the only other person he’s made friends with in the past year is far too pretentious to bother considering living in “grubby, poor-people apartments”. 

Eiji loves Yut-Lung as much as he hates him. 

He receives another order via Sing’s shout and is in the middle of pouring the almond milk when he gets distracted yet again by the sudden downpour sheeting the outside nearly white. Five seconds later, it’s accompanied by nice, acoustic thunder rumbling the exposed brick of their tiny kitchen. He finishes the drink with a residual pout.

Sing notices and laughs. “Aw, what’s wrong, Ei-chan? Thought you loved the rain?”

“Not when I get off in five minutes and have to walk home in it,” Eiji pouts some more.

Oftentimes, when it drizzles languidly or mists delicately, he won’t bring an umbrella with him. There’s a certain spiritual, calming enjoyment in basking in the humidity and letting oneself be washed clean—like all the bad energy of the day drains down into the sewers with the rest. He owns one, an umbrella, sure—a plastic, clear one brought over on the plane-ride from Izumo—but jacket hoods work well enough. Not this time, however.

Eiji will have to make peace with the fact he’ll be stuck here for the time being, unable to do much but buy a discounted coffee (he prefers tea, but they don’t sell tea because a teashop is located directly across the street and he would feel bad giving money to their rivals) or sit in contemplative silence. 

Five minutes later, Cain clocks in as Eiji clocks out with a hearty pat to his shoulder as usual and Eiji finds himself nestled deep within one of their pleather armchairs used primarily for open mic nights. Apps are boring, the news is sad, and all of his social media is for his photography because he figured it would be annoying trying to handle two of everything at once. The contacts of his phone include only six numbers in total: his mother, his sister, Ibe-san, Sing, Yut-Lung, and his boss, Jessica. Yue is most likely taking his afternoon nap(s), so that leaves Eiji with positively zero options.

Time to solemnly stare out into the torrents, he supposes.

From within the depths of vertical blurs emerges an ethereal being of magnificent opalescence. Plaid slacks, a black-as-the-blackest-of-nights turtleneck, and a caramel-cream colored trench coat. Perfectly round metal-frames perched atop an upturned nose, shielding astoundingly green eyes from where Eiji can see, and tucked behind hidden ears beneath brilliantly blond hair. 

Gay panic. Eiji’s never felt it this strongly before, oh no. 

This man, this walking perfection of Eiji’s most homosexual dreams, huffs indignantly and that’s when Eiji realizes that perhaps he needs to tone down the heart-eyes pounding away. Mr. Man-of-His-Dreams is sopping wet, obviously having been caught in the bulleting shower. Those clothes (oh, God, what an immaculate style he has) are soaking and clinging to that lean frame, those glasses are smeared with water unable to be wiped clean, and that yellow hair is a tad comparable to a cat freshly bathed. 

“Ash, you’re getting water all over the floor, man, c’mon!” Sing only whines because he despises cleaning above all else. Closing, like he does, means meticulously wiping down the machinery and washing the utensils every single night. And his hours don’t equate with the time it takes to finish. 

Eiji supposes he could mop while he waits. It would also give him a reason to potentially speak to Pretty Boy, whose name he now knows to be Ash (what an oddly-fitting name). He wonders how those two know each other.

“Do not worry about it, Sing,” Eiji interrupts, standing, “I will clean it up.”

“But you just got off!”

Eiji waves him away. “I do not mind. I am not doing anything, anyway.”

He moves to head toward the employee’s only door when Ash grabs his elbow and Eiji swears the world shifted at the touch. But he turns and cocks his head in question, hoping he doesn’t look too hopelessly flustered.

Ash speaks, though his face betrays no hint of emotion, “I made the mess, let me clean it.” Those sculpted eyebrows stay perfectly still, but those pink lips are down-turned in a way that makes Eiji want to kiss them better. 

He feels heat creep up the back of his neck at the immoral thought and hastens to reassure, “No, no, you are the customer! I will clean and you will dry off in the restroom!” Then darts away before any more can be said. 

Sing gives him a weird look once he returns with the old mop and bucket, but he pretends he has absolutely no clue what he’s referencing. Nobody enters and nobody leaves as Eiji focuses himself on wiping away all traces of Hot-Boy deluge and he only slightly wishes it would have taken him longer to clean. Because now, not only does he have nothing to do, those previously empty thoughts are going to be filled with nothing but blond hair and green eyes. 

When he reemerges a second time, Ash is leaned over the counter with a card in hand, only moderately less drippy than before. 

Sing swipes it while Cain gets to work making whatever has been ordered and Eiji can’t help but ask, “How do you two know each other?” Sing has never mentioned an Ash before.

It’s Ash who answers first to the indignation of Sing, “He’s the annoying kid cousin of my best friend.”

“Yeah, well, you’re just the irritating best friend of my equally irritating cousin!” Sing slams the card back down on the countertop, snarling.

Ash merely laughs. “Annoying and irritating are synonyms. Better find a more original insult, Soo-Ling.”

Eiji eyes them back and forth, slightly concerned that Sing is going to attack Ash by vaulting over the counter right then and there.

“I’ll hand you your coffee myself, Lynx. Sing looks like he might throw it at you. Can’t believe you drink this shit black, man.” Even Cain knows this elusive man?

Ash pockets his card, grabs the cup, and takes a long, refreshingly hot sip. “It’s an acquired taste. Thanks, Cain.”

“And how do you two know each other?”

They both turn to a floundered Eiji with grins spreading across their faces and shrug, replying, “Old friends.”

“Why does everyone know Pretty Boy but me?” Exasperation turns to immediate mortification at the words Eiji realizes have just escaped from his blubbering mouth.

“You think I’m pretty?” Ash questions, a suave, stupidly attractive smirk curling at the corners of those lips Eiji desperately wants to kiss. 

“No, actually, I think you are very ugly and not at all my type. Goodbye!” Coward Eiji flees from the scene of his greatest, most monumental failure and hides in the back atop a milk crate because he can still hear the rain pounding away outside. He’ll have to quit. He can’t ever come back here again.

He’s playing with the string of his shoelace, replaying the events over and over in his mind and cringing internally without fail when he hears a voice calling for him, “Eiji, oh, Eiji!”

Ash. Oh, God, it’s Ash. What can he do? There’s nowhere else to hide! “Go away! It is employees only back here, you are breaking the rules!”

“What? Can’t a pretty boy break some measly rules for another pretty boy?”

Eh? What?

“Found you.”

Eiji’s heart jumps into his throat as Ash’s face rounds the corner, effectively trapping him. There’s nowhere to go other than out the back door. Just three brick walls lined with metal shelving and boxes of creamer and sugar. 

“What are you doing, Eiji?” he taunts, crossing his feet and nonchalantly leaning against the wall. And damn Sing and Cain, they must have told him his name. Eiji really tries not to swoon at the mispronunciation, it’s too cute.

“Hiding away in embarrassment until you leave.”

“You called me pretty, so what? Lots of people call me pretty all the time.”

Eiji gives him the most incredulous look he can muster and deadpans, “Careful, too big a head and you might topple over.”

Those lovely green eyes roll around and around. “I liked it best when you said it, though. You should say it again.” And he’s a flirt, too? Eiji’s ruined.

But he isn’t about to go down without a fight. He’ll try being aloof. See how that works. “No, I will not feed your ego.”

“Fine, I’ll feed yours, then.” Oh no. “You’re pretty. Pretty cute. Pretty hot. Pretty attractive.” He backs Eiji into the wall and Eiji can feel the warmth radiating off of him. “Your nose scrunching up like that is too adorable. And your hair is so fluffy, I wanna run my fingers through it. And your brown eyes are so dark and magnetizing.” His breath, his intoxicating breath, is ghosting over Eiji’s cheeks. “That poetically romantic enough for you?”

“Your clothes are still damp,” Eiji says in reply, red head-to-toe and scrambling for purchase in his brain.

“I could take them off if that would make you feel better.”

Eiji really tries to block the mental image out, but it’s there and he can no longer do anything about it. Actually, if this is how it’s gonna be, so be it. He’ll play just as dirty. Time to change tactics.

“I live two blocks away.” Eiji arches off the wall, closes in on Ash’s space. “If we go now, we would both be cold and wet. And I only have one shower.” The insinuation is there and obvious, and all Ash needs to do is reach out and grab it.

His eyes light up in surprise and he chuckles. Eiji can almost feel the vibration. “You’re a lot more bold than I’ve given you credit for, Eiji.” He backs away, gestures toward the door. “Lead the way, then.”

Eiji wants that warmth surrounding him again as soon as possible.

~ ~ ~

Two blocks and one flight of stairs later, Eiji is unlocking the door to his apartment, suddenly very worried about the mess. He hadn’t been expecting to bring anyone home with him, let alone engage in a potential—how do Americans say—’one night stand’. What if Ash thinks he’s a slob? 

Speaking of Ash, Eiji is positively mesmerized with the way the water droplets cling to his blond eyelashes. He fumbles with the key, unable to stop himself from staring uncontrollably and blushes at Ash’s subsequent snicker. Were they really about to take a shower together? Eiji may have been a bit too forward. Or in over his head. Oh, God, he doesn’t know how to do these things. He should call Yue.

The door swings open along with any sense of propriety Ash apparently had been withholding and Eiji is swept up against the wall of his entryway, a pair of delectable lips capturing his own. It takes about three seconds of shock-induced catatonia before Eiji begins to reciprocate. 

And there they devour each other like starved animals, the door still wide open and shoes still—

Eiji abruptly pulls away, blurting, “Your shoes! Please take off your shoes!”

Ash blinks owlishly, lips swollen, before Eiji sees realization dawn in his eyes. “It’s customary in Japan, right?” Then proceeds to remove his shoes and place them in the getabako (Eiji’s mother shipped him an old one, bless her). “I’m sorry, I got a little overzealous there.” And furrows those blond eyebrows at Eiji’s blank stare. “Are you okay?”

This Ash is the first culturally-aware American Eiji has ever encountered and he would like to apply for a marriage license now, please.

Eiji snaps out of his reverie, fervently hoping Ash can’t somehow read minds, too. “Yes! Thank you.” After removing his own shoes, he stands there awkwardly, desperately searching for the next step. “Uh...would you like to take a shower now?” Stops himself from outwardly cringing. He really doesn’t know how to do this. “You can get in first while I put our clothes in the dryer.”

Ash smirks, one brow raising. “You that desperate to get me naked, huh?” And laughs at Eiji’s appalling look. “I’m joking, calm down.” And steps in close to press a lingering, heady kiss to Eiji’s lips again. “Join me soon or I’m gonna get lonely.”

With the dryer running and the shower running and his heart running, Eiji bites at his lip as his phone rings and rings and rings—

“I’m trying to nap, what do you want?”

“I am about to have sex with a man I just met and I do not know what to do!”

“Obviously have sex with him. I don’t know why you called me for this,” Yut-Lung sighs on the other line, exasperated.

Eiji whines, “Yue! Please, what if he thinks I am bad?”

“Have you ever had sex before?”

“Yes.”

“Did any of them say you were bad?”

“No…”  
“Then you’re not bad. Stop worrying.” Eiji pouts, unsatisfied with the way this conversation is going. “Ugh, where are you right now?”

“My apartment. He is taking a shower and I am calling you.” Oh no, does Ash think he’s taking too long?

“My only advice is do not have shower sex. Good luck.” And Yut-Lung hangs up.

So much for his help.

Mildly intimidated and extremely nervous, Eiji knocks on the bathroom door, announcing, “I am coming in!”

Steam has already permeated the tiny room despite the fan going, Eiji can’t even see himself in the mirror. He deposits his clothes in the hamper and shakily pulls back the shower curtain before stepping in.

The scalding spray of water hits him first and he almost melts in relief. It feels so nice. Then he remembers there is a very naked, very wet Ash standing within close proximity to him and he struggles to keep his eyesight above the waist. Even so, it just might be the most erotic sight he’s ever witnessed in his life. Lean but muscular. Flawless, porcelain skin. A charming smile and cheeky wink sent directly his way.

“Eiji, are you sure you wanna do this?”

Huh? “What do you mean?”

“You look nervous.” 

Oh, this is it. He’s made an utter fool of himself. Ash is gonna leave and he won’t ever be able to face him again. 

A thumb caresses his cheek and tilts his head up. “Get out of your head and tell me what’s wrong.” And those vibrant eyes are full of so much concern, Eiji kind of wants to spill all of his secrets right there.

But he only admits, “I have never done this before,” and prepares himself for Ash’s disapproval.

“What, sex?”

“No! I mean…” He gestures, unable to find the words.

“A one night stand?”

He hopes his silence is a good enough answer. He doesn’t think he could bring himself to admit his absolute lack of sexual deviancy. Part of him also feels horribly awkward they’re having this conversation naked in the shower of all places.

“That’s okay, we can just take it slow.” Eiji’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. Is such a gentleman truly real? “We don’t have to do anything. Just take a shower together. I could wash your hair for you?”

Relaxed, Eiji smiles and likes the way Ash flounders in its brilliance. “Yes, please.”

The next morning, Eiji wakes up with Ash drooling all over his chest. Hair tangled, eyes shut, and soft snores—Eiji wouldn’t dare move a muscle for the rest of his life if it meant he got to look at this. That pale back glitters in the early, golden light and Eiji looks over to his window, sees the water droplets shimmering and thinks he’s found a new reason to love the rain. 

Then later Ash tells him he’s the godson of Eiji’s boss and Eiji screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Support my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing! https://ko-fi.com/bounteous


	4. I Heard It Through The Grapevine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prep Eiji, despite the protests of his new friends, Sing and Yut-Lung, has fallen for the elusive Greaser, Ash Lynx.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is a Marvin Gaye song, though the lyrics have absolutely nothing to do with the plot. Also, deliberate ignorance of 1950s world history.

Eiji pouts into the white-and-red swirled straw of his milkshake. Stirs the strawberry pink contents around and around, fist against cheek. Swipes a finger into the whipped topping to taste the fluffy sweetness on his tongue. He thinks this dessert would taste better if it was Matcha-flavored. 

Sing and Yut-Lung sit across from him, respectively, the metallic blue of the booth popping behind them. Beneath their butts is bright, metallic pink. Sing’s face is a look of peculiar childish jealousy while Yut’s is sharp hatred masked as disgust. The subject in question to evoke such reactions? One elusive Ash Lynx.

They’ve told him to stay away from him. It only makes Eiji infinitely more curious. How could a boy two years his junior be so bad? Eiji would very much like to find out.

He watches him around school—when he shows up, of course—stalking the halls with his boisterous gang or bumming sticks beneath the bleachers during lunch. Eiji would be preparing for track practice and see them through the chainlink, peeling out of the parking lot in flashy hotrods and curls of smoke. Hear their rowdy cheers and excited shouts. 

American high schools are so fun, Eiji has decided.

But the rumor mill is thriving and Eiji overhears lots of things he doesn’t really want to believe. Fistfights, switchblades, rumbles in junkyards at midnight. Ash’s name is always mentioned—with reverence and awe—but Ibe-san told Eiji never to cross over onto that side of town where these rumors originate. 

Sing, young as he is, befriended Eiji quickly; became his unofficial tour guide of the town. Quite a sprite kid with as much tenacity as someone at his age and standing can hold. Separated fact from fiction, let him in on the “down-low.” Eiji has learned Sing just might be Ash Lynx’s biggest fan. As well as Shorter Wong’s, but he thinks there’s more of a story behind that relationship than Sing has revealed.

Yut-Lung is, perhaps, the richest boy in town with a name to bow down to, though he’d most likely scream at you for doing so. He invokes hatred or idolization and Eiji doesn’t think there’s ever been an in-between until him. They found a mutual understanding strung thin between them and Eiji trusts him to expel the truth without the sugarcoating like Sing.

It’s why he’s entirely irritated these two have managed to agree on the one thing he wishes they wouldn’t: don’t mess with Ash Lynx. 

“He’s too dangerous for you, Eiji,” Sing tries, voice muffled through a mouthful of ketchup and fries, “and you’d get in tons of trouble!”

Eiji merely pouts further, slurping up some of that ice cream and getting doubly annoyed when it gets stuck on a lumpy piece of soggy strawberry. “I am not baby! I can handle self!”

“Ash might disagree with you on that,” Yut-Lung replies, disinterested in the conversation already, swishing a strand of sleek, black hair between his fingers.

Eiji is sick and tired of people always assuming he’s naive. He knows things! He can handle himself just fine! He is nineteen years old, the oldest kid in school probably on account of a severe difference in academics between Japan and America. He could’ve been in college right now! He’s done plenty of bad things back home, things his mother would’ve rightly smacked him for if she’d ever known. Americans simply have no manners!

However, Ibe-san would send him on the next flight out if he ever finds himself in a lick of trouble here…

“Oh, great, they’re looking at us!” Sing exclaims, reaching over dramatically to yank at Eiji’s periwinkle sweater vest. “Don’t look! They can sense your obsession!”

Yut-Lung gives him an incredulous look. “They’re looking over here because you’re over here.” Flicks Sing on the nose. “You haven’t spoken to them once. Shorter must be hurt.”

Eiji turns around anyway, staring across the diner, across the sparkling, silver floor toward the booth hoarding a mass of snorting laughter and steely, jade eyes. Eiji flushes immediately, red heat-to-toe. Squints at an odd mash of yellow against pink. Makes a quick-second decision that could quite possibly make or break his standing on the popularity ladder. 

Standing with an absurd flourish, Eiji swallows nervously and marches his way across a sprawling floor toward a destination seemingly miles away in the face of gasps and whispers. Quiet, sharp shouts of his name fade further and further behind him. No turning back now. 

He stops abruptly just short of the metal table covered in greasy balls of checkered wrapper-paper and empty, discarded cups. Back stiff and hands balled into anxious fists at his sides, Eiji announces, “You have mustard on lip!”

Ash Lynx blinks in stone-cold amusement and confusion. Eyes this Japanese kid up and down with a small smirk and raised blond brow. Eiji feels shivers up and down his spine, feels pinpricks at every spot those pupils hit. 

He doesn’t know if Ash Lynx carries weapons, but there’s always a fresh cigarette nestled behind his ear, behind greased blond hair that curls slightly at the nape of his pale neck. He sports crisp jeans ripped at the knees and cuffed at the ankles to flaunt bright red high-tops. They're scuffed beyond repair. A black shirt hugs his lean frame perfectly, wrapping around the bicep flexing as it lays across the back of the booth. Tied around his waist is a green flannel that Eiji embarrassingly envisions himself wrapped up in. 

Eiji watches Ash’s mouth move before he hears the words leaving it. “That all you came over to tell me?” He says it so mockingly, so jokingly sweet like he _knows_. 

“Er—yes?” The flush isn’t leaving anytime soon. Eiji discreetly pulls at his collar, airing out the heat collecting at his chest. 

The world is still, patient, waiting and watching for the Lynx’s next move. Not a breath has been released. Not a muscle moved. Not a single pair of eyes away from this sudden game between opposing forces. Eiji’s heart pounds so very loudly in his ears. This was a mistake.

“Well, you gonna get it offa me, then?”

_Huh?_

“Huh!?”

“Man, what?!” Shorter exclaims, eyebrows shooting up past the sunglasses he always wears indoors. His eyeballs must be pinballing back and forth behind them. 

Eiji is floundered. “O-kay…” Without thinking, really, he bends down just slightly, uses his thumb to swipe the condiment clean just like he did the whipped cream earlier, and brings it to his mouth to dispose of. He couldn’t see any unused napkins. Adorably so, his face scrunches up and he wheezes out, “Spicy!”

It’s eerily silent inside the diner this afternoon. Eiji is mortified with himself. Every single head is turned in shock, mouths opening like gaping fish and eyes wide with awe. Ash’s gang is sitting front-row, tense and waiting for a beating sure to come. Nobody touches the boss like that. This kid is dead meat!

If one were to look closely, they would see a rising of sweet, sunset pink adorning Ash Lynx’s cheekbones. But the boy guffaws, head thrown back and arms around his waist, saying, “I thought you Japanese had spicier food than us Americans? It’s just mustard!”

A couple of his boys laugh nervously, unsure of their boss’s reaction. Has he gone nuts or something? Shorter Wong merely gives him a look of a seriously concerned friend, finally having pushed his sunglasses up to better survey the scene.

Eiji pouts once more, indignant, and insists, “Art-i-fi-cial spice! Not good!”

Ash wipes fake tears from his eyes, deliberately ignoring the stares. “Gotta be honest, I’m a little disappointed you didn’t use your tongue. Really thought you were gonna. That, or run away screaming.” Those rosy lips curl themselves into a smirk, watching and waiting patiently. Wondering if this new kid can play his game.

Eiji’s heart stutters at those words, at the implication hanging heavy in the air. This Ash isn’t so scary. He very obviously enjoys toying with Eiji’s budding feelings, but two can play at that game!

Without a moment’s hesitation, Eiji grabs the sticky bottle of mustard and squirts an identical dollop onto the previous spot above Ash’s curving lip. Those jade eyes catch his with amusement, surprise, questioning and daring at once.

“Use tongue now?” Eiji asks innocently. He wants to play, but would hate to make him feel too uncomfortable. Eiji isn’t a monster. 

Apparently, he needn’t have asked. Ash sits up, leans awkwardly over the corner of his table, grabs at Eiji’s chin for leverage, and pulls their lips together in a searing first kiss. The cigarette falls to the floor like a coin drop in this extended shock of silence. When they part, the mustard has smeared across both their lips, tingling. Ash then wipes it away with the back of his hand, smiling at Eiji’s nervous laughter and handing him a clean napkin. 

“Catch me ‘round school, some time,” he declares before exiting the diner without another word and a tinkling bell. 

Flustered, Eiji looks over toward the gang left behind, shuffles a few steps backward, and spins on his heels to march straight back toward his original table. All in a pleasantly shocked silence. Sing and Yut-Lung eye each other, disbelief emanating from their beings.

“They hell was that?” Sing blurts, slamming his down upon the table.

“I am...impressed,” Yut-Lung concedes, strangely calm.

 _Me too,_ Eiji thinks, wiping at his lips in a daze. He will most definitely be “catching” him at school tomorrow. Hopefully, they can make out beneath the bleachers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Support my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing! https://ko-fi.com/bounteous


	5. Chlorine Glow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ash and Eiji share a rare type of love, but they have a long way to go in making it work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not me forgetting this exists for the second time oops

Ash wonders if Griffin enjoyed his prom. That would have been the early seventies. Did he ask a nice girl to go with him? Did they ride together in his pickup and slow dance to Frank Sinatra? Spend the rest of the night together until the early hours of the morning? 

Prom in a dingy, seaside town is probably different than a prom in the Big Apple. No poorly decorated high school gyms or rows of hand-me-down rust buckets. Max expressed discontent at the idea of the school renting out an entire hotel for teens to share rooms overnight, but Jessica had been quick to remind him that it’s better than losing their virginity in a parked bus like they had. 

Ash and Max had both become red in the ears at that statement over a dinner of steak and potatoes and Michael blissfully ignorant of certain definitions. 

Ash really did not want to go. Shorter complained, told him his reputation wouldn’t be ruined by dancing to Wham!, but Ash isn’t so dense to care about his image like that. He’d only reluctantly agreed on the insistence that the punch would be spiked and he could either get drunk with them or watch the hilarity ensue from the sidelines. 

And also something akin to hating disappointing his one, true best friend. 

So he braved renting out a tux with Max, sitting still as Jessica tamed his mane, and embarrassingly asking for help after realizing he didn’t know how to tie a bowtie. 

Standing here in his bedroom, books piled high atop his nightstand and his bed unmade beneath a pile of clean laundry, looking at himself in his cracked, closet mirror—Ash first thinks he looks absolutely ridiculous, then makes himself sad because Griffin could have been Max. It’s hard because everything reminds him of his dead brother.

But Shorter is waiting outside with the rest of their ragtag group of friends, having just rung the doorbell like a maniac. Jessica called his name up the stairs a while ago, but Ash had to sit for a second and calm his nerves. He doesn’t know why he’s so anxious. He can’t help the nihilistic thoughts or the midnight existential dread. 

He tightens his shoelaces one last time before heading out.

Max and Jessica make him and his friends pose together for pictures before sending them off. Shorter tackles Ash in the first one, poses seductively on the hood of his Pontiac in the second, and makes the group hold him up in the third. Alex nearly drops him on his pineapple head. Ash tries to smile, but he’s sure it looks horribly forced and incredibly awkward. 

No hot dates tonight, just some lone friends looking to wreak havoc in a setting other than their high school hallways and football field. They skid out of Ash’s gravel driveway, speeding down the suburban streets beneath flickering lamposts and endless telephone lines. Ash watches the night sky pass by in a blur, head thumping against the window as he tests how far he can see until the stars are covered by patchy, peeling cloth. 

Alex, Bones, and Kong have squeezed themselves into the back, shouting profanities each time Shorter whips the wheel around corners and they all slide into each other. Ash winces at the crackling speakers barely holding on to Shorter’s loud music, wishing more than anything he’d stayed in. He could be rereading The Catcher in the Rye or sharing a bowl of popcorn with Jessica or helping Max write another article. Or wallowing, most likely.

Shorter keeps looking over at him with pity and sympathy and Ash just wishes he’d fucking say something already. No need to side-eye and blatantly ignore the elephant crushing the life out of them both. 

Aggravated, Ash eventually lowers the volume with more dramatics than necessary and snaps, “Fucking say something or quite looking at me like that, dickhead!”

Shorter sighs, pulling into the venue parking lot and cursing at all of the unavailable parking spots. “What am I looking at you like?” he asks, exasperated. 

“Like you’re sorry for me and shit.”

“Well, I am sorry for you and shit!” Purple hair swivels in Ash’s direction and they nearly avoid running over two girls from history class. “Sucks about you and Eiji, man, and I just thought bringing you out of your room for the first time in days might be good for you!”

“You don’t know what’s good for me.”

“You don’t know what’s good for you! At least, I’m fucking trying!”

Awkwardly, the trio observing cheers once Shorter spots a free space and speeds in before some rich kid’s mustang can steal it. They receive angry honking in return and, in troublesome teenage boy solidarity, all five of them flip the dude off. 

Ash deadpans, “By taking me to an event specifically marketed toward couples.”

Shorter smiles, teeth grinding, and claps him on the back with more force than necessary. “We’re gonna spike the punch, it’s gonna be funny, and you’re gonna laugh, either hammered or sober.”

As if on cue, the bottles of liquor lining Shorter’s trunk all clink together as soon as he shifts into park. Empty cans of beer litter the floor, but that’s not the kind of shit people want to drink mixed with fruity-flavored carbonation. Most of it is cheap vodka, some tequila, and various types of rum. There is also a single bottle of Everclear just for extra damage.

“How are we even gonna get this shit inside?” Ash grunts, unamused.

“Got a cousin who works here!” Bones supplies, practically vibrating in his seat. “Gave me a backdoor key and everything!”

Together, they lug the crates of clattering bottles and sloshing liquid all the way around back where Shorter should’ve just parked, to begin with. Bones fumbles with the key, pushing it in and pulling it out, and jiggling until the lock finally fucking goes with an audible click. Turns out Bones’ cousin looks like a cleaner version of him; same pinkish hair, same pale skin dotted with freckles, same lanky frame in a white tuxedo and a nametag displaying ‘Gregory’.

He ushers them through the kitchens, instructs them to act casual despite the fact they’re clearly teenagers carrying illegal substances, and into the cooler where a large, plastic bowl sits empty. Pretty soon, after all of them are slightly tipsy from taste-testing, Shorter tops off this potent, blood-red concoction with the entire bottle Everclear. 

He grabs the ladle and takes a hefty sip, smacking his lips. “Practically untraceable!”

Ash, the smartest and move level-headed at this point (and every other point), gathers up the empty bottles and shoves them all in the first trash bag he can find. Hands it to Gregory and wishes the man luck. He’s probably going to get fired. Whistles at his friends to get going.

Ash supposes the best part about this whole idea is that they never had to pay for tickets. They simply slipped through the ‘EMPLOYEE’S ONLY’ door behind an innocent worker holding a platter of snack food. Ash’s eyes, however, struggle to adapt to the sudden darkness after wandering around in jarringly bright fluorescent lighting. A few minutes later, the infamous punch bowl is finally brought out with tons more containers to refill. 

Prom livens up much more quickly after that. 

Ash has settled himself in a cushioned chair at a round table alone. Bones and Alex are dancing together and Shorter, drunk as all hell, is flirting with whoever he can find. Kong is...somewhere. How hard can it be to lose that guy? It was funny at first watching these people go from blase bobbing to hardcore headbanging, but now it’s just annoying every single time someone trips over his foot or spills their drink. 

Ash has never much enjoyed drinking. It doesn’t taste good and losing control of his inhibitions like that just scares him too much. And last time he let himself go like that, he’d sobbed over Eiji for hours and promptly passed out in his own vomit. Max had been called and carried him home and Ash doesn’t think he’ll ever recover from that embarrassment. 

So, here he sits with crossed ankles and incorrect posture, picking at his nails because he doesn’t want to drink the punch and the thought of eating nauseates him in anxious situations. He kind of feels bad for letting Max rent this expensive suit for no reason or for letting Jessica waste her hair products on him. He’s not doing much but tugging at his collar and constantly flicking a rogue strand out of his field of vision. 

“Ah, excuse me? I have fruit, please?”

Ash’s blood runs cold at that sweet, familiar voice behind him. How could he have been so stupid to think Eiji wouldn’t attend prom? Fuck, he really regrets coming now.

“Hm? Couldn’t understand you, sorry. Speak right next time and maybe I’ll let you.”

Ash turns in his seat, back cracking satisfyingly at the angle, struggling to see through the dumb centerpiece of flowers and leaves. Eiji over by one of the many food tables along the perimeter stopped by a couple of assholes known to be horribly racist at the most inconvenient times. He watches with narrowed, jade eyes.

Eiji looks confused, head tilting. “I say word wrong?” 

Asshole number two mocks him, “English! Speak Eng-ga-lish! Fuckin’ Chinese taking over this damn country.”

Eiji could probably punch them, knock them right out if he wanted to. He only clenches his fists in anger, insisting, “I Japanese!”

“Whatever, you Asians are all the fuckin’ same.”

Okay, Ash has had enough of this. Broken up or not, he isn’t about to let Eiji get insulted by these two dumbasses just asking for it. 

“Hey!”

Their heads turn—a simultaneous movement of all three. Eiji, picturesque in soft baby blue and pants ending just above his bare ankles, is the one most surprised. His moppy, black hair isn’t brushed any different and his brown eyes swirl in torrents, like a tsunami. Fuck, Ash misses him like crazy. 

Asshole number one speaks, “Can I help you?”

Ash can barely tear his eyes away from Eiji enough to respond, disinterestedly, “Yeah, by fucking off.”

“Excuse me?”

Ash places himself purposefully between them, keeping Eiji to his back and safely behind. Holds out an arm for good measure, already apologizing to Max if things take an ugly turn. 

“I said, take your evangelical, Republican opinions and fuck off.”

“Ashu, wait—” Eiji tries, grabbing onto his shoulder, scared of causing a scene.

"You can't just say that to me!"

"Oh, I can't? But you can say that shit to him?" Incredulous, Ash chuckles darkly. "Listen, daddy's money bought you that nice suit, right?" He crowds closer, using his height and demeanor to embellish his threat. "They could just buy you another one if I rip it to shreds, right?"

A patchy, spotty, acne-marked neck visibly gulps down nervousness and increasing trepidation. Clumsy, uncoordinated feet stumble back. Chipped fingernails dig into palms. Their faces screw up in indignation, but Ash’s cold stare overpowers whatever incessant patriotic bullshit they hold inside their tiny, underdeveloped brains. Grumbling, they stalk away. 

Ash spins around. “Are you okay?” His hands, previously reaching to grip onto Eiji forearms, hover in hesitation. He suddenly realizes how forward this was of him, his hands wavering and shaking, suspended in time because to touch would be too bold but to pull back would be...would be what? Forcing Ash to accept the circumstances for what they are? A sad, pathetic boy unable to let go of his ex inserting himself into desperate, pining situations?

Eiji replies anyway, unaware of Ash’s tumultuous, thundering thoughts, “Yes, g-gomen—ah, thank you.” His face remains downcast, lids flickering this way and that, following the funky pattern of the carpet. He can’t look him in the eye. Why does that hurt so much?

But, then, he does look up through fluttering lashes and it hurts slightly less.

“Are you drunk?”

The glassy, unfocused glaze shifting and scintillating beneath the disco ball is beautiful, demure, and a tell-tale sign spiking the punch had been the dullest of ideas. 

“I not drink, though?” Despite his confusion, Eiji becomes sheepish under the scrutiny of Ash’s question. 

Eiji thinks Ash only loved him because he was uncorrupted, and that, somehow, by drinking Eiji is violating the very trust he’d so very delicately placed in him. He’d always hated disappointing Ash. Does that make Ash the bad guy? For not reassuring him better? For hovering and shielding to the point where Eiji could no longer see for himself?

Guiltily, Ash mumbles out, “Yeah, don’t drink the punch, anymore,” and leads a teetering Eiji out into the hall for some semblance of privacy and breathing room. “Here, sit down for a sec.” Eiji comically slides down the maroon wall until his butt thunks against the floor. Ash follows suit, though much more gracefully—and cautiously.

He should grab some water or something, probably—

“Ashu…” Eiji whines pitifully, head lulling until it hits Ash’s shoulder, “I miss you.”

His heart stops beating. The motor functions of his body go haywire. A lump, solid and massive and covered in phlegm, makes home in his throat. He should move away, back out before the situation crosses the point of no return, but the shampoo-smelling hair underneath his nose when he turns is too intoxicating. He could press thin, shy lips to his creased forehead...like before.

“You broke up with me,” Ash whispers, broken words breathed into the crown of Eiji’s head. 

It shakes fervently. “No, you broke me!”

Ash knows what he means. He can’t help but think that statement is true, too.

He sighs. Undoes the scarlet around his neck. “We broke up with each other. Mutually.” Mutually...yeah. More like Eiji explained his reasons and Ash stood there silently pleading, silently begging, silently accepting because Eiji had made too much sense. 

“I wish we did not.”

Ash is too coward to respond with anything coherent or diligent. Too coward to make the move that could salvage the fractured, shattered pieces of their relationship. It’s a tiny globe held in his hands and he’s been so afraid of dropping it. It feels as if it has expanded to surround them both tonight.

Eiji takes offense. Hurt and/or embarrassed—upset, either way. He stands, swaying with the abrupt motion of moving far too fast for his pounding skull. “Sorry.” And runs away. In the opposite direction of the dance Ash knew he never should have come to.

He doesn’t know why he gives chase. Desperation. Love. Lamenting the fact he continues to hurt Eiji even after they’ve separated. Eiji claimed they didn’t communicate well. Claimed they were both at fault. They stood across from each other in Ash’s room and the silence right then had never been more deafening. 

In the end, valid points were made and Ash took them all to mean one thing: they should have stayed friends. In a subsequent confession across a public library table, Ash fell heavily into Eiji’s embrace. That was the problem. It was too heavy. He’d allowed himself to lean too much, to rely too much on that care and kindness, that tenderness stroking his cheeks and smoothing down his hair. 

They—they could have been fine if only Ash kept to himself like always. But he’d opened up and was proved right. He’s always been too much. He was careless this time. A burden. Always ruining the few good things left.

“Eiji!” He shouts, sprinting down the hall, following the trail of tears and hysteria. “Eiji, wait! Stop! I’m sorry!”

He follows him past historical paintings and ugly wall decals. Through exit signs and around corners. Where is he going? It doesn’t matter. Ash would follow him to the end of the earth if only to say goodbye.

“Sorry? You apologize why?” Eiji words echo back, the fluctuation a tumbling mess made from holding back tears. He doesn’t stop running.

Breathless, Ash despises the athleticism Eiji carries, but he replies, “Because I hurt you!”

“I hurt you, too!”

“That doesn’t matter!”   


“Why not?” 

His voice sounds closer, solid and dense. Ash turns, finds him stopped in the doors of the elevator, panting and rudy and positively forlorn in his disposition. “Because—” Ash starts, but the silver doors shut with a soft hiss and Ash’s reflection is all that’s left to see, poignantly staring back at him. Desperate, crazed even, he races up the stairs two steps at a time, stupid fucking shoes clicking annoyingly on the tile. 

He and Eiji lock eyes just as he pushes through the second-story door, tense and waiting for different things. “Why not, Ashu?” Eiji asks plaintively.

Ash shrugs his jacket off, hot and sweaty and suffocating. “Because you were always good.” Eiji’s face contorts at that. “You never did wrong. I was bad—for you. I knew I shouldn’t have allowed myself to be your boyfriend. I never deserved it.”

Terse for just a moment, Eiji then shouts like a cornered animal and kicks the wall. “Ugh, you not get it! Not at all!” And he takes off running once more.

Ash is horribly confused. What does that mean? What doesn’t he get? It all seems pretty clear to him… Shaking himself, composing himself, he darts off again like this is some funny lover’s quarrel. He must have really pissed Eiji off for him to be acting like this. He slows to a stop. Maybe he should quit while he’s ahead. Save Eiji the inconvenience. 

Dejectedly, somberly, and an audio of sad music looping in over and over in his mind, Ash finds each footstep to be harder than the last. Slow, sluggish movements. He bends down to remove his shoes—they hurt his feet anyway—and when he stands with them hanging off the tips of his fingers, he gasps.

Through the tiny window next to a sign reading POOL, he sees Eiji standing at the edge. It’s enough for him to pull open the doors and enter. The setting changes. They click shut and Ash, mesmerized, looks around at the white tile shaded a tantalizing blue from the gentle, lapping water of the pool. Eiji nearly blends right in.

It smells like chlorine. So much Ash can taste it on his tongue when he tries breathing in the thick air through his mouth. But it sounds soothing, tranquil, almost like an isolation tank. He lifts his hand, watches the waves ripple and reflect against his pale skin. And when he looks up again, Eiji is turned to face him.

“What don’t I get, Eiji?” It bounces all around them.

Eiji looks away, back up, blinks rapidly before his eyes dart away to the floor or the walls or anywhere that’s not at him. “You never let me in, Ashu. You never tell me problems or—or why you sad or angry! I never know how to help!”

Ashamed, Ash tries to apologize for the second time. “I’m sorry—"   


“No! No say sorry! That is my job!” Those baby blue-clad shoulders droop, deflated. “When younger, I want to kill myself. I never tell you that. Thought you be upset. Because you never tell me about you. So I never tell you about me, either.”

Their glass ball shatters into diamonds, crystals glittering about them in an escapade of white and silver and cool blue reflection.

“Always want to know what it feel like.”

Arms akimbo, Eiji lets himself free fall backwards. Ash cries out, panics and pushes himself forward the last distance. They splash into the freezing water; a wake-up call, a shock of realization, a declaration or confession or epiphany. Scarlet flutters to the wet tiles.

Ash emerges, paddles toward Eiji wiping his stinging eyes, shakes him by the shoulders. “What the hell was that?” His voice wavers, his eyes drip salt and not chlorine.

Minutely, Eiji mumbles, “It not real, Ashu."   


“I don’t care.”

“I not want to, anymore.”

“I don’t care!” Their foreheads meet, a clash of opposition. “Don’t do it again.”

Their noses slide against each other. “You were scared?”

“So scared.”

Their lips meet. Speak against each other. “Tell me more.”

**Author's Note:**

> Support my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing! https://ko-fi.com/bounteous


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